In honor of not feeling like writing but being forced to, by conscience, work on my National Novel Writing Month project–I am running a repeat.  This originally appeared here in September of 2008 under the title “Hair Retrospective”, and is almost unanimously considered by readers to be their favorite (humorous) post I’ve ever done.

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In the beginning, there was Mary.  And she had no hair.  And it was pretty good.

Mary had dominion over the animals, plastic though they were, and they bowed in worship to her baldness, her round-headedness, and the unnatural size of her eyes.

Then the Lord said “Let There Be Hair.”  And he caused it to grow.

He caused it to grow in unruly patterns of unnaturalness, in cowlicks of shame, and in colors of dirty dishwater.  And there was confusion and thousand-yard staring for 40 days and 40 nights.

Thus, He giveth the rubber band.  And the pigtails, they were good (ish).  But a being wholly removed from God (Mom) caused the pinking shears of doom to be inflicted upon the hair.  And the bangs?  Not good.

And despair reigned across the land.

The plague of the pinking shears again was visited upon the people of the house.   The shears caused lobotomized staring, and despondency, and bad fashion, and an unattractiveness so palpable that the wallpaper peeled from the walls to hide itself from the disgrace.

And the children, they cried out in anguish, “Why dost thou mock me, and then take photos?”

And the Lord, He was silent.

And in that fifth year, the child was sent to live in a garden.  A “kindergarten.”  And the hair of the child was cut.  And combed.  And still, it was not good.  A being adorned the child with bad ’70s fashion, and the Lord reigned down his wrath at the choice of collar by striking the child with facial insipidness.

There followed seven years of plague.  Long hair with bad parts.

Homemade haircuts with unfortunate alignments.

The mercifully unphotographed attempt to worship the false idol of Dorothy Hammill, with a failed wedge cut.

In the tenth year, a graven image of Mary was made, so shocking that to stare too long would turn a child into a pillar of polyester.  The indifferent grooming, the infectiously indifferent fabric pairings, the crooked teeth of despair.

And the Lord proclaimed: “Verily, I say unto you, hair is heartbreak.”

In the thirteenth year, there appeared long and glorious locks of brown.  Yet the Lord, in his mighty power, spoke words of judgment from on high, “Thy bangs shalt be unto thee an eternal sorrow.”

In the fullness of time, Mary reached the age of young womanhood.

In 1982, in her fourteenth year, the fourth born son of the family married and the child was named “candle-lighter,” and in her blue finery, she felt that the curse had been lifted, that her hair looked like that of a rock star.

But yea, the Lord deemed that Rock Star she was to resemble would be Robert Plant.

And shame would be hers for a quarter century.

And then.

In the 20th year, 1988, there appeared a demon of sinister and seductive trickery.

His name was Ogilvie Home Permanent, and his evil spread throughout the hair and killed the firstborn hair follicle of every square inch of the scalp of Mary.

And the PMS was intensified through the bitter reflection in the mirror.

And the cursed bangs continued their reign for forty days and forty nights.  And then for six more months.

And yea, there was wailing and gnashing of teeth.

There followed nine years of short hair.

The stylists, they were legion and incompetent, drunk with power and poor judgment, inflicting suffering and acrimony.

In grief and pain, Mary brought forth bangs.

Then, a professional photo was taken, for presenting to visiting kings, queens and er…clients.

The fourth-born son of Mary’s parents saw the image, and sang to Mary the Carol Burnett theme song, and Mary was filled with woe and murderous thoughts.

“I cry out to you, O God.  Have pity on me!  In suffering and shame, I live with this burden.  Lift it from me, and I shall cease my shouting of obscenities in places of commerce, and stop speeding, and give money to the poor.”

A quiet fell across the land, and then an angel of mercy was sent to bring peace.

Her name was Annette.

She was wise with the knowledge of healing neck massages, and valuable oils and potions, and a magical wand that smoothed woe and shame from cursed hair.

And seeing Mary’s Carol Burnett hair, Annette proclaimed, “Here’s my card.  I can fix this.”

And she did.

Over and over she did.

And girls, it was good.

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I will be offline Thursday through Sunday for a youth retreat.  See you Monday.